


Ecstasis in Excelsis (Amen)

by blue_blue_electricblue



Series: cw: graphic descriptions of elias [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dream Sex, Exhibitionism, Gaining Power Through Sex, Kinda?, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, References to Angels in America, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Ritual Sex, Smoking, Sort of? - Freeform, Trans Elias Bouchard, Voyeurism, and i mean VERY graphic descriptions of elias, bad choices, boners for god, cw: graphic descriptions of elias, i'm not gonna lie this is super pretentious, listen i invented an entity sex ritual for this i hope you're all happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23987629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_blue_electricblue/pseuds/blue_blue_electricblue
Summary: Jon, while in a coma, chooses to live. He chooses to wake up. He chooses more life.Elias may have assisted with that decision, just a little bit.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Series: cw: graphic descriptions of elias [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693177
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	Ecstasis in Excelsis (Amen)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You can't outrun your Occupation, Jonah](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530525) by [blue_blue_electricblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_blue_electricblue/pseuds/blue_blue_electricblue). 



> as promised. here is the scene where the Angel rides Prior in some weird religious sex ritual but with elias and jon. god this took me so long to write,,, it wound up being MUCH longer than i thought it would be. it feels a little bloated but i am SO sick of editing it that i just. honestly just take it
> 
> it's kind of related to my other work, which is linked above, in that they both have to do with Angels in America, so if you're interested in Angels and Gods and Prophets i recommend 1. reading angels in america, it's fantastic, and 2. checking out the other thing i wrote

Jon is aware, somehow, that he is dreaming.

He does not know how long he’s been dreaming but he knows it has been a very long time.

He doesn’t like this dream. It’s not… it’s. All he knows is that while he watches, something is very, very wrong. He doesn’t like the Watching and Staring and obsession. He doesn’t like the pain he inflicts on others. This dream is… it’s foul, and evil, and he knows in the back of his mind that there are only two ways out.

One way is death.

The other way…

The other way is  _ Elias. _

He doesn’t always dream of Elias. Of course, he is dreaming all the time and Elias can only dream every so often, but he does dream of Elias often enough that it sticks out in his mind.

Because Elias—Elias is not part of the suffering masses that make up the world Jon now inhabits. Elias doesn’t cry or scream at whatever trauma surrounds him. Elias doesn’t even react to those who  _ do _ cry and scream. He doesn’t flinch when Jon Looks at him, he just smiles and greets Jon warmly, as he would do if this were a normal day at work, and they  _ chat. _

Or, Elias mostly talks at Jon while Jon shakes and twitches and nearly sobs in relief to be freed, at least for the moment, of his unending, ceaseless job as  _ Watcher. _

“I can help you out of here,” Elias says sometimes. “I can help you be free. But you won’t be human anymore. Not even close.”

“What will I be?” Jon asks sometimes.

“My Archivist,” Elias says always.

Jon isn’t sure he’s strong enough to ask, tonight. If that’s the answer Elias gives him, and it will be, Jon won’t be able to resist giving in. And he does not want to give in.

So tonight, he just wanders around the dreamscape, watching people sob as they live through their trauma over and over again, and he prays that Elias will not appear and weaken his resolve and loyalty to his humanity.

“Is that how you see our little rendezvous?” a voice drawls. “Do I play the part of your devil, here to tempt you away from God?” 

Elias is sitting on a tree stump beside where Jon is standing and watching someone get burned alive.

He turns his head to look at Jon properly.

Jon Watches him.

Elias’s smile, so sarcastic not moments before, softens when he looks at Jon. The sharp edges of Elias, and there are quite a few, seem to fade away for a moment.

“Hello, Jon,” he says softly, standing up to walk over to him.

Jon does not want to say anything in response. “Elias,” he says.

Elias watches Jon for a long moment. He doesn’t say anything, he just… watches.

“I’m very proud of you,” Elias murmurs. “My Archivist. So beautiful. You’ve come so far, you’ve done so well, you’ve changed so much.”

Jon… doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just… watches.

Elias sighs and places a hand on Jon’s cheek. “You have to make a decision soon,” he says. “You don’t have much more time to putter around, unsure, noncommittal. You need to make your choice.”

“You say that every time,” Jon grumbles sourly. 

“And every time it is true. Oh, Jon.” Elias steps closer to Jon. He is only just taller than him, and much warmer. His fingers are long and elegant, and his other hand comes to cup Jon’s other cheek, cradling his face in his hands. He gently traces over scars and stubble, over Jon’s forehead and lips and eyelids. For the first time in a long time, Jon feels relaxed. “Oh, Jon. I miss you. You’ve been gone for quite a long time.”

Something in his chest clenches when Elias says that.

He blinks his eyes open—he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them—and looks into Elias’s eyes. Something about them seems  _ older _ than the rest of him, somehow; more exhausted, worn out. Jon wonders, idly, if that will happen to  _ his _ eyes after decades of Watching. If he does decide to spend decades Watching and not just die here and now.

Elias sighs and pulls Jon closer to him, one hand on the back of his head, the other sliding down his back to pull him into his chest, his neck, to have him close. Jon rests his forehead on Elias’s collar bone, breathing in the scent of  _ Elias. _ He remembers it from where it lingered around the archives, following where he walked, a subtle taste of expensive perfume and sandalwood. This close he can smell the snap of the cologne, certainly, but also the smoothness of his aftershave, the pomegranate hand cream, the ink and well-pressed, high-quality fabric. He inhales deeply to catch… something else. The slight undertone of something like iron. A tang of blood, maybe, or the bright snap of ozone that betrays him as something inhuman and powerful.

“I want to get out of here.” It is only just whispered into Elias’s shirt, but he knows that Elias heard him.

“How are you going to leave?” Elias asks. 

There are only two options. Death, or the smell of pomegranates and blood. And in the end, aren’t those the same thing?

He pulls his head from Elias’s shoulder and looks him in the eye. They are so very close together, almost so close that it’s hard to focus on Elias’s features, so close that he can feel the heat from Elias’s body just radiating towards him slightly.

“What do you want, Jon?”

Elias has no powers of Compulsion, not like Jon does, and yet the answer spills easily from his lips, as if plucked directly from his brain. “I want you.”

Elias inhales sharply. Jon worries, just for a moment, that he’s said something wrong.

And then Elias is kissing him.

It wasn’t quite how he imagined Elias would kiss him. Elias has such a powerful, dominating presence, that he imagined—well, when he allowed himself to imagine, when he had given into the thoughts of sharp edges and hard shoulders and the flash of teeth hidden behind knowing smiles and soft praise—he imagined that kissing Elias would be something of a similar experience as being in the same room as him; being intimidated, but hopelessly fascinated, hopelessly drawn in, and losing yourself in his sheer  _ power _ and personality.

But that’s not how it is.

Elias kisses him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. 

“You are,” Elias says against his lips in a gasp, “God, Jon.  _ My Archivist. _ You  _ are. _ ”

Jon doesn’t have time to respond to that before his mouth is covered again, and— 

He kisses Jon like he’s dying. Like Jon is his saving grace. It feels like the nip of his teeth and the quick and desperate movement of his lips are something natural to him, and for that Jon is grateful because he doesn’t exactly have a  _ lot _ of experience with this. Elias, however, kisses Jon like it was all he was meant to do, all he’d wanted to do forever, like this is his one purpose. Elias kisses Jon like he’s  _ holy, _ like he’s a god that has come down to touch and hold and kiss. Elias worships Jon in every noise he makes in his throat, and Jon had never expected this, had never considered it, but it is more perfect than anything he’d considered ever before.

Elias pulls away from him, and Jon, panting, Watches him.

“You’re choosing me,” Elias says, looking Jon in the eye and cradling his face in his hands.

“I—yes,” Jon says, steadily. “I am.”

Elias smiles his gentle smile, reserved for Jon specifically. “If I were a better man,” he says, caressing Jon’s face softly, “I’d warn you about what’s to come if you choose me.”

“I don’t care,” Jon replies. He’s surprised to find that it’s true. “Elias I—I’m so  _ tired. _ I can’t die, I have things that need to be done, a-and. People I’d like to see again, in real life, without being forced to watch them suffer endlessly, if that is at all possible. And you’re right. I need to make a choice. I’ve… spent too long here. So… yes. I am choosing you.”

Elias huffs out a breath of a laugh. “I’m certainly not going to be the one to try and change your mind. Oh,  _ Jon. _ ”

Jon can’t bear how bright Elias looks right now, so he closes his eyes and kisses him again.

“You’re going to be the Archivist,” Elias says when he pulls away. “Are you prepared for that responsibility?”

“I’m already the head archivist,” Jon snarks, only a little impatient to have his mouth occupied with matters that he actually  _ cares _ about as opposed to  _ talking _ .

“Jonathan,” Elias says, holding Jon’s chin firmly and making him look into his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Jon actually almost shrinks under the weight of Elias’s gaze. “I know,” he says sheepishly.

Elias sighs. “I know you know. I just have high expectations of you. And I want to know that you can bear it.”

“I can,” Jon says instantly. “I’m certain I can. Elias, you chose me to be the Archivist.  _ Your _ Archivist.”

Elias stares at him. He takes a deep breath, and, apparently exercising an incredible amount of control, leans down to kiss Jon, slowly, languidly,  _ sensually. _ It’s almost—the slide of his mouth, the way his hands run down his body, how  _ close _ they are—it’s almost  _ too much,  _ and— 

“Wait, Elias, wait, what is—” Jon is the first one to pull away this time, feeling— _ something _ that perhaps he hadn’t expected from just kissing Elias for about five minutes. “I, er. Um? Why?”

“Look around,” Elias says, grinning sharply. “Look. Everything is  _ watching. _ Are you ready to serve the Eye, Jon?”

And Jon, for the first time since he saw Elias, focuses his attention on everything that is  _ not _ Elias, and—and— 

The World Watches Him.

There are figures that watch around every corner, surrounding them. The shape of the dream has changed, he’s not outside watching people suffer, he’s in some strange, bright place surrounded on all sides by  _ eyes eyes eyes _ things that watch and creep and are picking him apart from a distance, trying to  _ know and see and witness. _ Overhead, the Ceaseless Watcher looms, and he is going to be consumed.

“To be quite honest,” he says weakly, feeling a little overwhelmed, “I don’t really see what that has to do with my erection.”

Elias very admirably tries to keep a straight face. Of course, he ultimately fails, and ends up tucking his face into Jon’s neck and laughing into his skin, something that feels—much more, ah, arousing than it should, he thinks. 

“Why don’t we lay down,” Elias murmurs into his neck, his grin ghosting across his throat, “and I’ll explain it to you.”

Jon very quickly finds himself on the ground, looking up at Elias, who stands above him, looking imperious and terrifying and  _ beautiful. _

“How shall I explain this,” Elias says, stepping closer to Jon. “You are… not quite a fully-fledged avatar. At the current moment, the only thing that stands between you and death is your flesh and your tenuous connection to the Ceaseless Watcher.  _ I,  _ on the other hand, am… more complete. More  _ absolute. _ And I would like to… help you along your journey, Archivist. Make you more  _ powerful. _ ”

“ _ Oh, _ ” Jon breathes, and somehow Elias is standing over him with one foot on either side of his chest, and Jon has never felt anything like this before.

“You must understand,” Elias tells him, crouching over his body before settling down to straddle his chest, “that our god is, at its core, a voyeur. It wants to  _ watch. _ It wants a  _ show. _ What better show of devotion, of loyalty, what better expression than  _ knowing  _ someone, biblically, and letting creation  _ watch. _ Oh,  _ Jon. _ Let me show you.”

Elias doesn’t put on a show, really. It is more that Elias  _ is _ a show. 

Every movement he makes is so incredibly sensual, every part of his body is so visually stunning. It seems impossible to look at anything but  _ Elias, _ his body hovering over Jon’s, his hands sliding off his tie, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, hands running down his form, his head framed like a halo by the ever-gazing Eye above them, the two seeming immortal, eternal, Looking down at Jon. But where the Eye looks only with passive interest, Elias looks with adoration, and as he looks the buttons come undone, one by one, exposing more and more beautifully inked skin that Jon—Jon is just  _ desperate  _ to run his tongue across.

“What creates everything, my Archivist?” Elias asks. “What makes the galaxy spin? Not physics. Not rationality.  _ Terror. _ Ecstasy.  _ Feelings _ serve the world.”

Elias’s shirt is off now, and he’s dragging his hands across his skin, sighing prettily as he runs his fingers over his scars and toying with his nipples.

Jon Watches this show and just by  _ watching _ he can feel—this intense  _ pleasure _ crawl under his skin, make him feel hot, make him gasp, make him buck his hips.

Elias makes a lovely noise in his throat at the motion and drags one of his hands down his chest, down his navel, down down  _ down,  _ until it slips under the waistband of his trousers and out of sight.

Well, that simply wouldn’t do, would it?

Jon shifts, sitting up slightly, and with reverent, shaky hands, he reaches out to grab Elias’s hips. His eyes, which he now knows are his most powerful weapon, burn up Elias’s skin until he locks his gaze with him.

“Let me  _ See. _ ” His voice echoes with  _ power _ for a moment and Elias  _ gasps. _ He seems frozen, just for a second, and Jon takes the opportunity to undo Elias’s trousers and pull them down, tugging his underwear out of the way along with them.

Elias manages to come back to himself while Jon watches him bury two fingers  _ deep _ into his cunt, and Jon—Jon feels like he is witnessing a  _ miracle _ . Everything about him looks  _ holy. _ For a moment, Jon remembers his mythology, remembers gods bathing and the punishment for spying, but Elias is a god that is  _ meant _ to be seen, his godhood is rooted in the act of witnessing his pleasure, like a siren, like an incubus. It feels  _ dangerous _ to look at him, like he’s looking at something so much more divine than anything else, like an angel of exhibitionism and sex and power is  _ here in front of him _ and  _ fucking himself on his fingers _ for Jon to  _ watch. _

“For  _ creation _ to watch, Jon,” Elias sighs, rocking his hips down onto his own hand and Jon is  _ transfixed _ by the motion, his eyes desperately flicking between Elias’s face, his eyes half-lidded and looking down on Jon with satisfaction and dominance and power, and his  _ fingers  _ inside him, bringing him pleasure, bringing his body to life with ecstasy and glory.

“I watch everything, Jon,” Elias says, panting a little. “And everything watches  _ me. _ Can you feel it?”

Jon can most certainly  _ feel it,  _ a fact which he knows from how tight his trousers are getting at the moment.

Elias laughs breathily, and the sound instantly plays on a loop in Jon’s mind, the airy, beautiful laugh echoing around his head. This is what Elias sounds like when he is stretching himself open on his fingers and laughing at Jon, and it is the most stunning sound he’s heard in his life.

“I’ll be the first to admit that this line is a little overused,” Elias says, settling his free hand on Jon’s chest, “but I  _ do _ think you’re overdressed.”

Jon sits up so fast he almost knocks Elias off of him, which would be actually the worst thing to happen to him right now, but he catches and  _ squeezes _ Elias’s hips with a possessive, bruising force. Elias grins back at him, sharp and somehow more possessive than grasping hands, and he quickly shifts around to strip off the rest of his clothes and settle back into Jon’s lap.

Jon stares at Elias, momentarily too dumbfounded to even consider doing anything else. Here, sitting in his lap, is a creature of divine sexual presence, grinning at him with a smile that seems to want to devour him, naked and glorious and  _ watching. _

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” the angel in his lap says with a sardonic twist to his mouth, “but I rather thought you sat up to start… well, stripping.”

Jon did, in fact, do that, and hastily begins to unbutton his shirt as Elias laughs his quiet, fond laugh and reaches his hands out to Jon, one helping to push his shirt off his shoulders, the other hand  _ (fingers still slick, slick and long and clever and covered in—)  _ stroking his cheek, lovingly, sweetly. Elias leans in and kisses Jon again and he really  _ can’t  _ be doing that if he wants Jon to maintain some ability to do  _ anything _ including  _ take his clothes off _ because when Elias’s lips touch his skin Jon’s mind short-circuits— 

But in the end, it’s alright, because Elias has taken the initiative and, using the  _ clever stunning awful _ hand running down Jon’s chest, he finishes undoing Jon’s trousers and shoves them down and out of the way. 

“Wait,” Jon pants as Elias rakes his nails down Jon’s sides, “wait, I don’t usually—why is this?”

“You don’t have to be sexually attracted to me to feel the  _ desire, _ ” Elias says and Jon is lost in the way that his muscles shift beneath layers of ink and skin. His neck and chest and face are flushed and his pupils are blown and he’s breathing heavily with a sharp smile on his face, and Jon is lost in his collar bone, in the heaving of his chest and the cut of his jaw, the tendons in his neck and  _ god _ everything  _ about  _ his neck, his beautiful neck. Jon most certainly feels  _ desire. _

“Intense, isn’t it?” Elias asks him, hooking his fingers in Jon’s briefs and tugging them down. “Terror and ecstasy; what’s the difference, really? I’m sure it all looks the same when you’re an ageless Entity. Oh, but they can make you  _ feel _ it. You are meant to be  _ observed,  _ Jon, and you are meant to learn new things. You can hardly resist it. Your pulse racing. The pull of sexual need. The throbbing and oozing of sex, disgusting and terrifying and  _ beautiful _ and  _ desirable. _ ”

“Oh,  _ god. _ ”

Elias shoves Jon down so he is flat on his back and at the mercy of whatever Elias decides to do with him. Jon looks up at him and comes to the realization that he is Watching something rare, something impossible, something he’s never seen before: Elias in ecstasy. And this realization makes him  _ understand _ what he is witnessing. He is witnessing something beautiful, something  _ holy _ and unstoppable, like a miracle, like an act of God, like a supernova.

“If I were you,” Elias says, even as Jon is still gasping and stuttering, “I would wait until  _ after  _ I came to make any supernova comparisons. If you think I’m beautiful now, you should see me in the afterglow. Oh, Jon, I am  _ exquisite. _ I am meant to be Seen. And  _ you _ get to watch me.”

“I will,” Jon says, breathing deeply. His voice seems almost not his own, almost feral and unhinged. It sounds possessive and dark and powerful. “I will Watch you forever, Elias. You are for me to watch.”

Elias  _ moans  _ again and the sound is electrifying, the sound is addicting. “Oh,  _ Archivist, _ ” he says, and Jon feels a rush of power in his blood and the heady wave of  _ desire _ throb against his skull, so powerful he can’t do anything but sit, watching, stunned, as Elias leans down and kisses the center of his chest. And then begins to travel  _ lower. _

Elias keeps eye contact with him as he licks his way down Jon’s chest, down his sternum and across his stomach and navel, down to his pelvis and pauses  _ right _ before his cock, so hard it  _ aches _ now. Jon is aware, vaguely, that he’s panting, but only because he can see the rapid and harsh rise and fall of his chest when he looks down at Elias, who is smirking at him and beginning to sit up—

_ “Please,” _ Jon whines. “Please, god,  _ please _ touch me, I’m—I can—”

“You can _feel_ it,” Elias purrs, and finally, _finally,_ wraps a beautifully manicured hand around Jon’s cock and _squeezes._ Jon can feel himself arching into the touch, feels the bend of his spine to get closer to the _fuck hot tight good_ ** _Elias_** feeling, and he’s just _holding_ him and not _doing_ anything, it’s not nearly enough friction but it’s _Elias_ and Jon wants to toss his head back at the slight relief but that would mean he would have to stop Watching Elias and his slender fingers _holding his cock_ and—

“You can  _ feel _ it,” Elias says again, and loosens his hand and Jon wants to cry with frustration. “Oh,  _ Jon. _ My Archivist. You can feel the  _ Ecstasy, _ can’t you? The  _ joy _ that comes with Watching, and Watching  _ me. _ ”

“Please—Elias,  _ please _ stop teasing please I  _ need— _ ” 

“Oh, I know.” Elias’s voice is condescending, mocking, sweet, and he loosely pumps Jon’s cock once, just once, and Jon can’t help but buck his hips at the motion. “I know what you need. I Know. Creation Knows. You need  _ me. _ ”

Words flow out of Jon’s mouth in a sort of useless stream, an endless babble of “Yes I need you I need you  _ please _ Elias I need you—” and Elias still just looks down on him imperiously, smugly. He smiles like a reptile and he  _ plays _ with Jon’s cock, stroking gently and  _ squeezing  _ suddenly, teasing in just the most unbearable way. Jon wants to  _ sob _ when Elias positions himself over him, lines himself up while sighing prettily, Jon wants to buck his hips for some  _ release _ because the Fear Entities that can apparently give you an erection gave him a fucking  _ painful _ one and he needs to see what Elias looks like while riding him, he needs to know what Elias looks like in  _ ecstasy _ with Jon inside him, he needs to  _ feel _ and  _ touch _ and  _ know _ and  _ experience _ — 

And then—

And then Elias sinks down onto Jon slowly, and Jon can feel his mind struggling to compute anything besides  _ I am inside him I am inside him I am inside Elias and he is hot and tight and wet and he is looking down on me and— _

And Elias  _ clenches _ around him and Jon gives up on coherent thoughts and gives himself over to sensation and feeling. He can practically feel his eyes roll back, lost in the holy pleasure of  _ Elias Elias Elias _ but nails rake down his chest and he  _ gasps. _

“Look at me,” Elias grinds out between his teeth as he lifts himself back up, nails biting into Jon’s navel. “You need to  _ watch,  _ Archivist.  _ Look _ at me.”

And Jon  _ does. _ He looks at Elias, taking in his beautiful body sitting up, tall and proud, his skin flushing pink where it isn’t covered in dizzying patterns of eyes and monsters, he looks at the arch of his back, at the sweat beading on his body, at the tight pull of his skin across his rib cage as his chest rises and falls with his breathing, he looks at his  _ neck _ god his beautiful neck and he can see the pulse thrumming in his jugular, he sees Elias’s legs splayed wide, straddling Jon’s hips and he  _ watches _ as Elias lowers himself back down, watches every inch of his cock disappear into the tight, wet heat that seems to want to burn him alive, consume him entirely. 

Jon is painfully, helplessly aware of everywhere Elias is touching him, every point of contact between their bodies feels like an injection of  _ want  _ and  _ need _ under his skin. He can’t take his eyes off where his body is  _ joined _ with Elias. He can’t stop looking at where Elias’s pelvis meets his, where  _ he is inside him _ , where Elias keeps rocking up and down in maddeningly shallow movements that make Jon realize he’s moaning low and desperate in his throat.

“Ohh,  _ Archivist, _ ” Elias sings, “I am going to fuck power into you, my love.  _ Fuck, _ god I’ve wanted your cock inside me forever, oh my  _ beautiful  _ Archivist.”

Jon can’t help but rock his hips up and  _ whine. _ He needs Elias to  _ move. _

“I know, I know, I  _ know, _ ” Elias breathes out, still moving so fucking  _ slowly _ .

“I need— _ faster, _ please—”

“You could try to show some initiative here, dear heart,” Elias says wryly, but he begins to fuck himself on Jon’s cock in a way that makes Jon feel like nothing more than a toy to be used at Elias’s pleasure, even as he flushes for being useless.

“You  _ are  _ my toy, my Archivist, my little plaything,” Elias says as he picks up the pace, making Jon keen and whimper. “Oh, but I still love you for it.”

“ _ Fuck,  _ Elias—!”

“Didn’t you know that?” Elias asks, his voice pitching higher somewhat. “Didn’t you know I love you?”

The words hit Jon like a blow to the chest. Elias is riding him, Elias is fucking him, Elias  _ loves _ him, Elias is using him like a glorified sex toy, bouncing up and down on his cock in front of so many  _ eyes,  _ all watching the union, all Knowing and Seeing, and he’s confessing his love in front of  _ everything, _ Everything now Knows that Elias Bouchard loves his Archivist. Everything now Knows that all Jon can do is thrust his hips up desperately, totally lost in the sensation of being  _ Seen _ , being  _ Watched, _ lost in the feeling of Elias on top of him, Elias around him, Elias squeezing him and fucking him, Elias taking his pleasure and  _ looking at Jon, _ Elias  _ loving _ him and  _ watching _ him, of  _ Elias Elias Elias— _

“God  _ Jon _ please Ask me something,” Elias breathes, bringing a hand to his clit as he rides, and Jon can’t stop staring at where he disappears into Elias’s body, and where Elias’s fingers circle his clit, where Elias is  _ touching _ himself, and Jon can’t do anything but moan at the sensation, at the visual, at  _ everything—  _

“ _ Please, _ ” Elias gasps. “Please, I can  _ feel _ you Looking, Ask me something, Archivist, Ask Ask  _ Ask— _ ”

“Do you love me?” he manages, panting through it, because he still can’t quite believe Elias, he still can’t quite trust that. He can hear static rise, can feel the little electric crackle on his tongue but he’s not sure he’s managed the Compulsion properly because  _ everything  _ feels like electricity and static right now, every fiber of his body feels like it’s electrocuted, he can feel heat building in his abdomen and his nerve endings are on fire, but he hopes to god that he’s Asked properly because he could not bear to disappoint Elias, not now—

“ _ Yes, _ ” Elias moans, and throws his head back in pleasure for just a moment before he rolls it forward again to look at Jon. “ _ Yes, _ I love you, I love you, you’re my Archivist, you’re my end, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve worked for for so long, you’re my ascension, you’re my apotheosis,  _ yes _ I love you, god, Archivist,  _ Jon! _ ”

Jon grabs at Elias’s hips, though there’s no chance of him being able to control him; he’s too powerful, too beautiful, too perfect. But Jon  _ needs _ to hold on to something, needs something to anchor him  _ here _ because he feels like he might lose himself in Elias, he lose himself and find god or some other monster instead.

“You  _ are _ a monster,” Elias says between pants, “you are you are you  _ are, _ you’re my beautiful monster, my Archivist, I’m going to fuck monstrosity into you, fuck you into power and terror while everything  _ Watches, _ a metamorphosis by my body, you’re going to  _ lose _ yourself in me, oh  _ Archivist. _ ”

“I can’t,” Jon gasps, though what exactly he’s referring to he isn’t sure. He just knows he can’t, can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t become a monster, can’t resist becoming one, but the thought that the act of fucking Elias, the choice he made to kiss him and fuck him and  _ live  _ with him, the choice that he made for  _ more life _ will irrevocably  _ change _ him as a person, will make him something more, something absolute, something  _ inhuman _ and monstrous, the thought is  _ blinding— _

“Not blinding,” Elias says. “ _ Never _ blinding. Eye-opening, enlightening,  _ world-changing—” _

“Get out of my  _ head, _ ” Jon hisses and thrusts up into Elias harder, with more fervor, more  _ force. _ “Shut up and get out of my head, Elias, I swear—”

“Ohh,  _ good _ boy, there we go, a little provocation and you’re  _ much _ more fun aren’t you,  _ ah! _ ”

“Do you love me?” Jon Asks again, using his power now, using his force and ability, and the static mounts, growing louder in his ears, ringing around him. “Do you love me? Do you want me? Do you like this, like riding me, like being watched, like being in control, like changing me to your whims?”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Elias cries, “yes, yes, yes, you’re so good for me Jon, such a good boy, my Archivist, yes  _ Ask _ me, yes to everything, yes, god you’re so  _ good _ inside me, Jon, I should just  _ keep _ you, I should just keep you forever, make you my little toy to fuck at my leisure, teach you how to please me, my brilliant tool,  _ god _ I love you—”

Elias rides him harder, faster, more desperately, and Jon can feel himself coming apart at the seams. He can feel himself tearing at the edges as his cock slides in and out of Elias, as Elias clenches around him intermittently, as he watches Elias’s chest rise and fall faster and more desperately, as he hears Elias  _ keen _ with pleasure, watches his long, thin fingers rub at himself with more urgency and Jon Looks into Elias’s eyes and can almost  _ feel _ what Elias feels, he can almost  _ Know _ how it feels to ride that which you will use to become  _ god, _ and the sensation is too much, almost too much, but yet not enough, and so Jon—

Jon Asks, “Do you want to ruin me?”

And Elias tosses his head back and cries,  _ “Yes!” _

And the Archivist is  _ gone. _ The static  _ explodes _ around him and he is only vaguely aware of the broken wail that Elias gives, too utterly lost and utterly  _ ruined _ by Elias on him, around him, in his  _ blood, _ controlling his every movement. He’s burying his cock  _ deep _ in Elias, a harsh shout making its way out of his mouth as he grasps Elias’s hips hard enough to bruise, digs his nails into his back hard enough to draw blood and make Elias gasp and shudder and squeeze around him, and all he knows is that he is coming inside Elias and this is where he wants to be forever, and he looks up at Elias and he knows that Elias was  _ right, _ because Elias is always right.

He is the most beautiful thing in the universe when he comes. Supernovae and miracles  _ pale _ in comparison to what Elias looks like, coming apart on top of him.

He almost seems to glow with a divine presence. He looks like an Angel, a terrifying messenger of God, full of holy fire and power and  _ eyes eyes eyes,  _ he seems to throw nonexistent wings back in ecstasy, looking  _ up _ and directly into the Eye that Looks down on him and  _ Watches _ him fall apart with Its Pupil blown wide, a dark halo now to frame the sublime beauty that serves It. There is a sense of  _ terror _ in watching Elias come, terror as his body seizes with pleasure, tenses and jerks as he moans, long and low, bathing in the feeling of being observed by  _ everything. _

Jon is barely coming down from his high, the harsh squeal of static dissipating in his ears, panting and shuddering and in awe, when Elias’s head snaps back down and he pins Jon with his gaze, bright and feral and monstrous. Jon feels like a bug in a jar, staring at something so much bigger and more powerful that he could not possibly  _ begin _ to comprehend. He feels  _ Watched _ by millions upon millions of eyes, growing impossibly closer, and the weight of all of their gazes bear down on him.

Elias begins to lean down, his eyes still alarmingly bright, almost  _ glowing _ with power until he is cradling Jon’s face in his hands, until he is close enough to Jon’s face Jon can feel heat radiating from his lips, can feel his breath coming in hot, heavy pants, till their chests brush with every deep inhale, and Elias digs his fingers into the side of Jon’s face and  _ kisses _ him.

And  _ this  _ is what Jon expected from kissing Elias.  _ This  _ is the dominant and powerful force of nature controlling every moment,  _ this _ is sharp edges and intensity,  _ this  _ is Jon losing himself in power and personality. This is surrender, and joy in surrender, and this is what it means to love the most powerful servant of the Eye, because Jon loves him, he  _ does, _ there was never any chance that he didn’t.

Elias pulls away from him, still panting from the exertion, from the kiss, from the raw power that is still buzzing around him, though fading now. The figures that Watch and Know, too, have disappeared, satisfied with the show they received, and the world has turned back into a clearing in a forest, underneath the same Eye that still Looks, and that still surrounds Elias’s head like a halo. Jon can hear distant screams, but he can’t even register them right now, not after that.

“ _ God _ ,” is all he can say, winded and trying to catch his breath.

Elias laughs breathily and rolls off Jon (who steadfastly does not whimper when his cock slips out from Elias’s body) and collapses on the ground beside him, staring up at the sky as he regains his breath. “The Eye is the Watcher of our souls,” he says in a faraway tone.

“What…  _ was _ that?” Jon can’t help but Ask, and Elias shivers pleasurably in response.

“Ecstasy,” Elias sighs, still not looking at Jon, still halfway out of it from his orgasm.

“Yeah well no doubt,” Jon remarks, only a little snidely.

Elias, very weakly, and in a show of  _ great _ exasperation, raises the arm closest to Jon and flicks him in the side, before dramatically dropping it back onto the ground. Still, he offers no other explanation and instead continues looking into the Eye.

There’s a long silence, but not an uncomfortable one. It’s warm and companionable, and despite the recent… exercise, Jon feels awake. Powerful. Alert. He feels as though he could exist by Elias’s side indefinitely, basking in the afterglow, which is comfortably exciting and relaxing, somehow at the same time.

Jon knows he’s going to ruin it. But he just… he has so many  _ questions. _ There’s so much he doesn’t know. There’s so much he needs to talk about.

“So,” he says, dreading every second that he opens his mouth. But he has to. He  _ needs _ to. There’s a lot he wants to say right now, and he’s not quite sure how to articulate it. “I… didn’t know you were trans.”

Elias stares at him for a long moment, almost unable to comprehend what Jon just said. And then he does the strangest thing Jon has ever seen him do.

Elias snorts.

Elias snorts, looks appalled at himself, but then snorts again in trying to repress his laughter, which bubbles up and out of him, and is nothing like the breathy, self-confident, quiet laughs from before. It’s full and loud and happy and surprised. It’s one of the most stunning things Jon has ever heard.

“ _ That’s _ what you want to—” Elias tries, but starts laughing again, and grabs Jon’s hand and rolls over to bury his face into Jon’s shoulder.

He laughs into Jon’s skin, his breath tickling him, warm and sweet and joyful.

“Jon,” he says once his voice is under control, still shaking with quiet laughter. He pulls his head up to look Jon in the eyes. “Jon, you’re in a coma, and this is a dream. I can have eight vaginas and a bouquet of phalli for your pleasure, if you so choose.” He considers Jon a moment, and then flashes a grin. “But yes, these are my, ah, parts. Something you just Knew, hm?”

Jon can feel his face get hot and kisses Elias’s hand as a distraction.

“Speaking of,” Elias drawls, “would you mind dreaming me up a cigarette? I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Elias,” Jon says seriously.

“Alright! But you know dream cigarettes won’t give me lung cancer.”

“ _ Elias. _ ”

Elias smiles impishly and turns slightly to grope around for his discarded jacket, though he has to let go of Jon’s hand to do so. It feels cold and empty without him.

“Does… that happen often?” Jon can’t help but ask. His body still feels strange, not his own.

“The Ecstasy?” Elias shrugs and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets on his jacket, and a lighter from Jon’s trousers. “Often enough, I suppose. There’s something so dizzying and terrifying about sex. It satisfies the Entities if you’ve been too busy to get a proper victim. Not that the Eye is ever wanting; I serve  _ well. _ ”

Jon lets his eyes trace the lines of Elias’s body, his back, his neck, how he tilts his head as he fusses with his cigarette. “So you regularly get fucked for a giant eyeball.”

“For and  _ by _ a giant eyeball, Jon. The gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher fucks me just as thoroughly as you did.”

It’s such a strange, blunt statement, and Jon almost wants to laugh at such a concept, but Elias doesn’t let on that he’s joking at all. He just lights his cigarette and lies back down, looking up at the sky fondly. Jon doesn’t want to look at the sky; he knows what he’ll see. But Elias seems to be able to stare straight into the Eye that looks down on them and  _ smile _ at it, exhaling smoke absently. A ribbon of smoke rises from the end of his cigarette and Jon thinks for a moment that it will reach up, up, up into the sky, it will caress the Watcher, like a lover’s hand or a soft kiss. For that moment, Jon feels as though  _ he  _ is the voyeur, intruding upon this moment between lovers, watching an intimacy that he is not meant to see. Two eternal, inhuman companions, God and God-Made-Flesh, caught in a feedback loop of Watching each other. The Eye has more of a claim over Elias than Jon ever could. Old gods and older lovers, and he is an interloper in their harmony.

But his musing is interrupted by Elias laughing gently and turning his head to look back at Jon.

“Don’t be jealous,” Elias says warmly. “I have no patience for jealousy, unless it will somehow benefit me, and I have no need for you to resent our patron. I’d rather you accept it with open arms.” He looks back up at the sky and smiles. “Besides. God and Angel, God and God-Made-Flesh, God and Avatar—they still need a Prophet.”

“Is that what I am?”

“In a sense.” He’s quiet for a long moment. “You’re my Revelation, Archivist.”

Elias is still not looking at Jon. It seems deliberate, like he  _ can’t _ look at Jon, like he needs to face his God more than he can bear to look at him. 

Jon thinks that’s rather hypocritical of him. So he rolls off of his back and crawls over Elias’s body, looking down on  _ him _ now, breaking the eye contact between God and Angel.

“Look at me,” Jon says.

And Elias  _ does. _ He looks up at Jon, looking right into his eyes, and he looks  _ content. _ He looks reverent and loving and exhausted, and he looks like he wants to sleep or kiss Jon or just lie there indefinitely, pliant and happy, so long as Jon was with him.

“God, God-Made-Flesh, and God-I-Made,” Elias says, reaching a hand up to trace Jon’s face. “What a trio we make.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” Jon whispers.

“You could fuck me again.”

“Elias.”

Elias sighs heavily. “You’re going to wake up. You’re going to get more life. And you’re going to be hungry. You’re a Vessel of the Eye, now. I think you can figure out what that means.”

“Yes,” Jon says softly. “I—I think I can, yes.”

“You’re going to resent me.”

Jon purses his lips at that prediction. “You can’t Know the future.”

“No,” Elias says, “but some things I just know, even without the help of fear entities.” He drops his hand away from Jon and gets a distant look on his face, like he’s somehow looking  _ past _ Jon and still staring at the fucking Eye that watches them relentlessly.

“ _ Look at me, _ ” Jon orders, and Elias does, reluctantly, just for a moment, before he averts his eyes, looking instead at the cigarette still dangling limply from his hand, watching the smoke rise. There is a practiced blankness in his expression as he stubs it out on the ground beside him and Jon… 

Jon doesn’t know how to get and hold his attention. He doesn’t know how to make him  _ Look.  _ He knows he needs to be looked at, and he knows he needs  _ Elias _ to look at him, but he doesn’t know  _ how. _

He does the only thing he can think of: he leans down and kisses Elias.

Elias sighs into the kiss. It’s slow and gentle compared to how vicious he was earlier, indulgent and long and careful. He still tastes like cigarettes, but that’s alright, because Jon is addicted to nicotine himself, and he finds that this addiction extends to the taste of ash in Elias’s mouth.

“Why don’t you try to fuck the Eye out of me, hm?” Elias asks when Jon pulls away. Now he  _ does _ look at Jon, all of his attention focused on Jon’s face as he spreads his legs, wrapping one around Jon’s hips, pulling him closer, and Jon is painfully aware that his come is still leaking out of Elias. “Fuck me better that it ever has.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to be jealous.”

“No, I said I have no patience for jealousy if it doesn’t benefit me. Getting you to fuck me desperately is what I would consider a benefit to me. Would it make you more likely to do that if I told you Peter Lukas stretches me on his massive cock regularly?”

It does, in fact, make Jon feel a spark of jealousy, make him feel like he needs to fuck Elias  _ better, _ like he needs to assert his claim over him in some way, which is idiotic and juvenile, because he knows very well that he’s being manipulated.

“You can be aware of manipulation and still fall victim to it,” Elias says cheerfully. “In fact, I count on that fact when I talk to most people.”

“Even me?” Jon asks, though he’s not sure why. He already knows the answer.

“Oh, Archivist,” Elias says. “Especially you.”

Jon can’t bear to look at the adoration on Elias’s face when he says that, because it is so  _ hurtful _ somehow, and to hear it in that tone from  _ this man _ is too much for him to handle, and so he kisses Elias again, because if his tongue is in Elias’s mouth, at least he won’t have to see that look in his eyes.

He pulls away from the kiss, but still close enough that he cannot see Elias’s face in its entirety, close enough that he can feel Elias’s eyelashes against his cheek and his hot breath against his jaw.

“Fuck me again,” Elias murmurs into his skin. “No Ecstasy this time. No other Watchers. Just God, God-Made-Flesh, and God-I-Made. Just the Eye, its Angel, and its Prophet. Just you and me and the voyeur we serve.”

“And what if I want it to just be you and me?” Jon whispers.

A breathy laugh against his neck, hot and moist and quiet. “That ship sailed a long time ago. Still, you’re more than welcome to try.”

He smells like cigarette smoke and sweat and sex. He smells like power and ozone and myrrh.

“Did you mean it?” Jon asks him.

“Did I mean what?”

“Do you really love me?”

Elias presses a kiss to the corner of Jon’s mouth. “I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean, even during sex.”

“You said I was your toy.”

“You are my toy, and I love you. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” Elias smiles, lips moving against Jon’s skin. He can’t see it, but he somehow knows that it’s sarcastic and soft. “Besides. You Asked me, didn’t you? I was a bit too preoccupied to shake off any Compulsion.”

Jon lowers his body further, hiding his face in Elias’s neck. Elias is  _ warm, _ despite his nudity, and his warmth comforts Jon and terrifies him in turn with each breath he takes.

“You said you’d ruin me,” Jon says softly.

Elias doesn’t respond. He just begins to run a hand through Jon’s hair.

“I Compelled you, and you said yes, and you just said that you meant it.” He lets his vision go out of focus as he looks at a birthmark on Elias’s neck, far too close to see properly. “You want to ruin me.”

Elias sighs. “I do. I will. I already have. What are you looking for, Jon? What do you want me to say? All of those answers are true, but I know you don’t like any of them. It’s too late for you to stop it. If you wanted to stay good, you shouldn’t have chosen me. The only way to get out of this  _ pure _ ,” Elias spits the word like it leaves a foul taste in his mouth, “would’ve been to die. But you chose  _ me. _ ”

Jon is quiet for a long moment. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He did choose Elias. He knew things would change, and he still chose Elias.

“But I…” Jon says softly, “I’ll still be your Archivist.”

“Oh,” Elias breathes out, like he hadn’t expected that answer, but sounding very pleased about it all the same. “Yes, Jon. Always.”

“I think I love you.”

Elias doesn’t tense up at this information. He doesn’t gasp, his heart rate doesn’t pick up, he doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t do anything but continue stroking Jon’s hair. Jon could almost laugh. Of course Elias already Knew about that. He hardly knew why he confessed. Elias probably Knew that well before he did.

“I didn’t,” Elias murmurs. “But I’ve already decided to not get my hopes up about things you don’t mean.”

“And if I mean it?” Jon asks, raising a hand to trace the lines of Elias’s neck.

“You don’t.” Elias’s hand never falters, running through Jon’s hair, loving and careful. “And if you do, you won’t for long. I’ve ruined you, remember? That’s going to have many more connotations than you’ll like when you wake up.”

“When will I wake up?”

“Now that you’ve accepted yourself? Whenever you like.”

Jon shifts back up, supporting himself on his elbows as he looks down and Elias. He really is one of the most beautiful things Jon has seen in his life. A creature of exhibitionism, of shameless pride, of observation. Jon wants to kiss him. A chaste peck on the lips, seeking nothing more but familiarity and sweetness.

He begins to sit up.

Elias catches him with the hand still tangled in his hair, forcing him to keep eye contact, to stay.

“Fuck me again before you go,” Elias says, looking up at Jon, and Jon knows that it’s as close to begging as Elias will ever get. “One more time. At the very least, clean up the mess you made inside me. I always did love your mouth.”

It’s meant to come out as a joke, slightly wry, a little sarcastic, but it’s too heavy. Too sincere. There’s too much of the truth in it, too much of  _ Elias _ in it as he raises a hand to trace Jon’s mouth with his fingertips.

“I can’t.” Jon doesn’t know why he says that, but he knows it’s true.

Elias huffs a humorless laugh and drops both of his hands away from Jon, back onto the ground beside him, and Jon’s skin still tingles where they had been. “No. Of course you can’t.”

Jon sits up fully, looking down at the beautiful man sprawled beneath him.

“I’ll… I’ll see you. When I wake up,” he says.

“No,” Elias replies gently. “But I’ll be Seeing you.” He smiles a little bit and turns his eyes back up to his God. “I’ll be looking at the moon,” he sings softly, “but I’ll be Seeing you.”

Jon doesn’t know what else to say. He’s run out of words here. He’s run out of time. He’s run out of things to do and things to watch. He has no need to be here. It’s time for him to go. It’s time for more life.

He leans back down one final time and gives Elias that chaste kiss, a sweet touch of lips on lips and nothing more.

“Goodbye, Elias,” he says.

Elias smiles at him. “Be Seeing you, Archivist.”

And the world melts away around Elias’s eyes, one last thing for him to look at before they, too, fade away like a sand mandala, more beautiful because temporary, disappearing into color and light and absence.

And Jon wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bluezaffre)!!


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